


Behind Closed Doors

by mongoose_bite



Series: Dyce the Incredibly Easy Breton [18]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Fix-It, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 07:02:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mongoose_bite/pseuds/mongoose_bite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jarl Balgruuf has ninety-nine problems, and one of them is his own son. Luckily, he also has a drop-dead gorgeous Thane with a knack for setting things right. Unfortunately, said Thane brings problems of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind Closed Doors

Dyce had arrived in Dragonsreach with an ulterior motive. It wasn’t one he was happy about, but being the Dragonborn had turned out to be one long list of unpleasant duties, leavened only by the wonderful people he’d met while fulfilling said duties.

A great many of these wonderful people were in Whiterun. The city had adopted the landless Breton as its own after he’d first seen off the dragon outside. The Jarl had named him Thane soon after, but it was the welcome (and food) he received in Dragonsreach that really endeared the place to him. Like a stray cat, once fed, Dyce just kept coming back, to catch up with his friends and get away from the madness of the Civil War gathering steam outside Whiterun’s walls.

And now he was bringing it here himself. He sighed into his mead.

He noticed he wasn’t the only one in a rather grim mood. The Jarl himself looked troubled and distracted throughout the dinner, and when Dyce caught his eye he just frowned. Dyce liked Balgruuf; he wasn’t just grateful for Dyce’s hard work, he put his money - or in this case his city - where his mouth was and let Dyce use Dragonsreach for its original purpose. It took guts and trust, and Dyce respected him greatly.

A pea bounced off Dyce’s cheek. He turned to see one of the Jarl’s brats snickering at him from the across the table. How did such a noble man raise so many little monsters, he wondered. Dyce glanced around and then lobbed a forkful of mashed potato back in the boy’s direction. Sadly it missed, and hit Lydia’s chair. She didn’t notice. Unlike most of the other guests, Dyce really didn’t care what anyone thought of his table manners, and he wasn’t sure if this meant he was targeted by stray peas more or less often than the others.

The Jarl must have spotted what was going on, because he got to his feet before the food fight could escalate, and ordered his children to bed, declaring he’d had enough himself.

Dyce waited as long as was polite and then ducked away from the dining hall and made his way up to the Jarl’s living quarters. As he was arriving, he saw Nelkir leaving. The boy watched him with an unimpressed expression.

“Another wanderer, here to lick my father’s boots. Good job.”

Dyce choked back half a dozen suggestive insults about what Jarl Balgruuf was welcome to lick and merely said, “Sod off, Snotface.”

As Thane, he was allowed in the Jarl’s personal quarters, which would have made his life as a thief a lot easier if he’d known that before Devlin had sent him on a surreptitious tour of the place. Still, he’d managed mostly to stay his hand and only lifted one or two of the most interesting trinkets. He was pretty sure Balgruuf didn’t know.

He asked one of the guards where he might find the Jarl, and wasn’t surprised to be directed to the man’s study. He was sitting at his desk and didn’t appear to be seeing the book he was holding, instead staring absently at the wall opposite. He looked up when Dyce knocked.

“Hello, my friend. It’s been too long since we’ve seen you in Whiterun.”

“I’ve been busy,” Dyce said. “The usual.” He strolled over and leaned against the Jarl’s desk. “You look troubled.”

Balgruuf smiled, “I don’t think it’s something even a dragonslayer of your talents could help with.”

“You never know,” Dyce grinned. “I’m very talented.”

Balgruff gave him the amused and knowing smile he always did when Dyce flirted with him, but it soon faded and he sighed. “Very well. It’s about my son, Nelkir. He’s always been a bit withdrawn but lately he’s been downright secretive. Violent even. I’ve had people try to talk to him - I’ve tried to talk to him, but he was rude to my face and refuses to talk about whatever is bothering him. Now I can’t get a word out of him.”

“Was he thrashed?”

Balgruuf folded his arms, “Yes, and the rudeness ceased. But he’s just holding back. All this is a symptom; I sense something’s gone terribly wrong.” He looked up at Dyce, “Not the sort of problem you’re here to handle, I’m afraid.”

“No,” Dyce said slowly. “But I’ll give it a try, if you’ll permit me.”

“I’m at my wit’s end. You’re welcome to try.”

Dyce inclined his head and turned to go.

“He’ll be in bed by now,” Balgruuf said.

“He’s not.”

~~~  
Dyce found Nelkir on the second floor of Dragonsreach, leaning over the balcony and watching those below who were still in the dining hall. Dyce had been prowling, as silently as a cat, and he watched the boy for a few minutes before approaching him.

“Eavesdropping, are we?”

Nelkir jumped as Dyce appeared beside him.

“What are you doing up here?” Nelkir said sharply. “Did that disgusting pig send you to bother me? One day I’ll tear his face apart so he can leave me alone.”

Dyce’s eyebrows went up with every word the boy said. The Jarl hadn’t been kidding when he said something was deeply troubling about his younger son.

“My father doesn’t know anything about me. But I know about him, about the war. More than he might think.” Dyce sensed that Nelkir had a lot of words and thoughts bottled up, and keeping them to himself had taken it out of him.

“What sort of things?”

“That he still worships Talos. And that he hates the Thalmor as much as the Stormcloaks do.”

“ _Really_?” Nelkir looked at him curiously as Dyce grinned. Well, if nothing else, he got some good news out of this situation.

“And.” Nelkir hung his head. “Um.”

The heart of the matter.

“Spit it out, Nelkir,” Dyce suggested gently. “You’ll feel better.”

“I don’t have the same mother as my brother and my sister.”

Dyce sighed. He had no idea if that was true or not, but what mattered was that Nelkir believed it. “They’re still your brother and sister,” he pointed out. “Your father is still your father. How do you know all this anyway?”

“This castle is old. Lots of places to hide, and overhear things. And see things. And the Whispering Lady.”

“And who’s she then?”

“She won’t say. But at the door in the basement, I can hear her whispering to me. She tells me even more secrets.”

“And you believe her?” Dyce asked.

“If you hear her, you would too. Trust me.” Nelkir was looking directly at him now, like they were co-conspirators, hunched in the shadows above the brightly lit dining hall.

“I suppose we’ll just have to see,” Dyce said, thoroughly creeped out by the whole thing. He wouldn’t go back to Balgruuf just yet; he wanted to hear this Whispering Lady for himself.

Nelkir smirked at him as Dyce made his way downstairs, through the kitchens, and into the basement. Among the barrels and sacks and bottles, there was indeed a dark door, right at the back. Dyce snatched a candle from the kitchen and approached the door.

Locked.

Feeling like he was putting his neck on a chopping block, he pressed his ear to the aged wood, wax dripping onto his fingers.

 _At last._ Dyce flinched. _I’ve been waiting for someone more fit to carry out my will._

Dyce bared his teeth in a grimace of disgust, but he didn’t move.

 _I forgive you for not knowing who I am. Few hear my whispers anymore. I am Mephala, the Lady of Whispers._ Dyce hoped she couldn’t read the expression on his face. She went on. They always went on. The assumption that a mortal, whoever he or she might be, would unhesitatingly obey them made Dyce’s neck prickle.

They were creatures of their natures, he realised. They could be no other way.

“What do you need me to do?” he whispered.

 _First you must open this door. A piece of my power has been locked away._ She wanted him to have it, of course they did. In some dumb, dim way, they had to sense the dragon souls he ate, and they wanted a piece of his power. _The Jarl’s court is right to fear the power I hold behind this door. The Jarl trusts few, and they will be his undoing. The dark child knows of what I speak._

Dyce pulled away, and returned to the light.

“The Jarl trusts me too,” he said to himself.

He hurried upstairs, and as he expected Balgruuf was still awake, waiting for him in his study. He took one look at Dyce’s expression and got to his feet, walking around his desk to meet him.

“What did he say? What did you find out?”

Dyce looked into his grey eyes, tired and worried for his son. “He said a few things,” Dyce said carefully. “Not pleasant things.”

“About me?”

“Mm. He said he did not share a mother with his siblings.”

“ _What_?” Balgruuf looked horrified. “But I would never- I didn’t. How could he possibly believe...who told him this? I’ll have their head.”

“You won’t,” Dyce said. He sat Balgruuf down and told him everything. The Jarl put his head in his hands.

“How did it come to this? My poor boy. We have to save him! We have to-”

“What is behind that door?” Dyce asked.

“To be honest I’m not really sure. It’s been locked a long time. My father gave me the key- Faranger has one too. Do you think he could help?” He lifted his head and looked at Dyce pleadingly.

“I’m not sure lobbing a few fireballs will improve things.”

“Maybe if I sent the children away until things calm down. I just need a plausible reason.”

Dyce shook his head. “We can’t play by Mephala’s rules. She’ll win if we do that. Nelkir already trusts no one. But at the same time, he told me his secrets; he wanted to trust someone.”

“What do you suggest we do? My friend, if you have a plan, speak.”

“Nelkir needs to know the truth. We can’t hide things anymore. Give me the key.” Balgruuf looked at him and Dyce smiled wryly, “Yes, once again I’m asking you to trust me.”

“With my son, no less. Are you sure it will work?”

“No. But I probably have more experience with Daedra than anyone in Skyrim right now. It’s your decision. My Jarl.”

Balgruuf took an old iron key on a chain from around his neck and offered it to Dyce. “Go. May the Divines watch over you. Over all of us.”

~~~  
Nelkir looked like he was on his way back to his room when Dyce found him again. He didn’t greet him, instead he held the key in front of his face.

“You got it!” Nelkir said. “I knew you could. You talked to her, didn’t you? I can tell.”

“And now I’m gonna open it. You coming?”

Nelkir looked at him adoringly, “You bet I will! Just make sure no one sees us.”

Dyce nodded.

They snuck back downstairs, man and boy, and Nelkir was practically bouncing on his toes when Dyce fitted the key into the lock. When he pushed the door open, he had no idea what might be on the other side.

They were looking at a cell. A room bare save for a single table, upon which was a book and a long, rusty looking blade. Nelkir stuck close to Dyce as they both stepped in.

“There’s no one in here,” Nelkir said.

“We are lucky we only have a fragment of her attention,” Dyce said. He stepped forward, and picked up the book _Admonition Against Ebony_. He flipped through it while Nelkir divided his attention between Dyce and the blade.

“What does it say? Are there more secrets?”

“Yes, of a kind.” Dyce knew this was not enough. He put the book down, and steeling himself, he picked up the blade.

_Excellent._

“That’s her,” Nelkir whispered.

_Now, I trust you’re sharp enough to see my sword doesn’t match the descriptions of The Ebony Blade you may know. It has languished too long outside the winds of alliance and betrayal. To return it to its past glory, it must first drink the blood of deceit. My blade is a darling leech that feeds on deceptions and nourishes its master._

_Seek out those closest to you. The final pluck of their misguided heartstrings will accompany my blade in the song of your grandeur._

Silence.

Balancing the blade on his palms, Dyce knelt before Nelkir.

“Well, do you want it?”

“I...” The boy looked startled to be even offered the weapon.

“You heard her. To unlock its power you must kill those who are closest to you. Who trust you. Your sister. Your brother. Your father. Your uncle. The maid who sneaks you sweetrolls. The guard who ruffles your hair. Faranger. Irileth.”

Nelkir’s eyes were huge. He looked from Dyce to the blade and back again. “I don’t think I-”

“Do you like what you found here? What you uncovered?” He spoke harshly, unkindly, demanding an answer.

“I don’t want it!” Nelkir finally cried out. “I don’t want it.” His lower lip trembled and he shook his head helplessly. “I’m sorry. Now everybody hates me.”

“You know that’s not true.” Dyce tossed the sword back on the table, with a clatter. Nelkir flinched, as if that act of disrespect would see instant punishment. “That’s how it’s done, Nelkir. You can say no. There’s always another chance.”

“Ugh.” Nelkir wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve, trying to hide his face.

“It’s all right. I won’t tell.” He held out his hand. “You’ve been very brave. You’ve done something that many grown men couldn’t. Your father’s going to be very proud of you.”

Nelkir took his hand, and Dyce got to his feet, pulling the old door closed behind them as they left. He sighed with relief, and walked with Nelkir back to the Jarl’s private quarters.

Balgruuf was waiting for them, pacing up and down in the entranceway, and he stopped when Dyce and Nelkir arrived.

“Nelkir!” The Jarl didn’t try to hide his emotion. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his son.

“Daaad,” Nelkir objected. “You’re embarrassing.”

“A father is allowed to be embarrassing. Are you alright?” His gaze flicked up briefly to meet Dyce’s and the Breton nodded almost imperceptibly. “It’s far past your bedtime, come on. Dyce, I’ll talk to you in a few minutes.”

As it turned out, Balgruuf took far longer than a few minutes and Dyce was wondering just how much the Jarl would miss some of the trinkets in his display cases when he finally returned, looking a little bit shell-shocked.

“He wanted a story. He hasn’t asked for one of those since, well, I can’t remember.” Balgruuf inclined his head and Dyce followed him upstairs to his quarters.

“We need to do something about that blade,” Dyce said. “I know they thought this was the best option, but there are too many people around to be influenced.”

“What do you suggest?”

“No solution is going to be perfect, but there are many dark holes in the world. I’ll just drop it down one of them. It can’t stay here.”

“Very well,” Balgruuf said. “It will be a relief to be rid it.” He closed the door behind them. “Dyce.”

“Mm?” Dyce turned as Balgruuf placed a hand on his arm.

“You can’t imagine how grateful I am. This was like a nightmare; when I think about what might have happened if you hadn’t been there-” He broke off, apparently lost for words. Instead he pulled Dyce into a bear hug, thumping him gently on the back. “Never doubt, ever, that you are among friends here.”

Dyce smiled and hugged him back. “I could barely breathe the entire time. I’m just glad it didn’t go horribly wrong.”

Balgruuf pulled back, only slightly, and Dyce could feel his breath against his ear. “I am,” he said softly, “entirely at your service.”

Dyce turned his head slightly, smiling. “That’s not something a Jarl is supposed to say.”

They were almost nose to nose, although Dyce was obliged to look up slightly. Balgruuf ran a knuckle down Dyce’s stubbled jawline.

“Well, this isn’t something a Jarl is supposed to do, either. But I don’t think you’d be shy about telling me if I was abusing my position,” he murmured.

“Don’t worry. I’m perfectly at home with a great many number of positions. My Jarl.”

Balgruuf laughed. “You’re incorrigible,” he declared with a smile. And then he kissed him.

Dyce kissed him back, his gloved hands sliding up Balgruuf’s bare arms as he nibbled and sucked at the Jarl’s lower lip. Dyce took a step backwards as Balgruuf tried to steer them away from the door.

Dyce broke the kiss, and Balgruuf made such a disappointed gasp when he did so he almost reignited the next one. Almost.

“Wait a moment,” he said, opening his eyes.

“Is something wrong?”

“Not exactly, but I’m here for a reason.”

Dyce stepped out of Balgruuf’s arms and the Jarl sighed and nodded understandingly. Dyce paced around the room, wondering how to begin.

“Nelkir told me something else. He said you still worship Talos, that you hate the Thalmor.”

Balgruuf regarded Dyce with narrowed eyes, “Well, who likes the Thalmor?”

“I’ve killed more than I can count,” Dyce said. “They’re not keen on Talos; can you imagine their joy at the existence of another Dragonborn?”

“I take your point. What is this about?”

Dyce stopped pacing and stood in front of Balgruuf. “It’s about the war. Like you, I’ve tried to stay out of it, but every day the war lasts the more we play into the Thalmor’s hands. It has to end. And it might take the voice of a dragon to end it.”

“Dyce. What have you done?”

“I’ve brought you an axe,” he said slowly. “From Ulfric.”

“Have you any idea-?”

“Yes! Look, hear me out. No matter which way the war goes, Whiterun is going to be the next point of contention. If you side with the Empire, the city will have to be taken.”

“And if I side with Ulfric it won’t? The Empire isn’t going to take this lying down.”

“Ulfric listens to me,” Dyce said. “Up to a point. My assistance is conditional. Ulfric must agree to defend Whiterun. By the time the Empire finds out, the plains will belong to the Stormcloaks. And they can try and take Whiterun, but they’ll go through me first. I swear it. I don’t want to see the war here. Let me help.”

“You don’t believe in making life easy, do you?”

“The only thing easy about all of this is me,” Dyce said wryly. “You don’t have to decide; I don’t have to give you the axe right now. I don’t know if this is the right thing, but I’ve been in the Thalmor embassy. I’ve read the books. I can’t fight them by myself. They started this war, with no intention that it should end.”

“Ulfric respects you,” Dyce said. “He doesn’t want to fight you any more than I do.”

“Respect, respect. Everyone respects me. And yet I am not allowed to govern my city in peace! Damn these Thalmor. And damn Ulfric and his war.”

Dyce just hung his head. It wasn’t his decision to make and he’d said his piece.

“Give me the axe,” Balgruuf said finally, his arms folded across his chest. “And I will keep it. May Talos watch over us all.”

“Yes, my Jarl.” Dyce turned to go.

“Not right this instant,” Balgruuf said. “It can wait until morning, can’t it?”

“Of course.”

Awkward silence descended. Balgruuf seemed to have lost the momentum that had propelled them together. Dyce decided to help him out.

“So, are you going to take me to bed, or should I find my own?” he asked lightly, with a smile. He would not be disheartened either way.

“I uh. You have to understand I don’t make a habit of this sort of thing. But you seem to, well.”

“Have a reputation. It’s fine.” Dyce stepped closer, a smile on his face and challenge in his tone. “Tell me what you’d like.” He enjoyed watching the Jarl squirm. Too often he’d asked him terribly hard questions, to make decisions he’d rather not. This time, at least, he’d know whatever Balgruuf said was exactly what he wanted.

“Actually I was wondering if you might,” he paused and Dyce resisted the urge to nudge him. “Take me to bed.”

Dyce took his hand, “It would be my pleasure.”

He half-expected Balgruuf to change his mind. He seemed uncertain, nerving himself up for something. Dyce didn’t think he’d been with many other men; the concept seemed to both entice him and make him nervous. He thought it was rather sweet, this wise and strong-willed ruler, finding the edge of his comfort zone in his own bedchamber. But he didn’t want him to regret anything either.

So when they closed the bedroom door behind them, Dyce slid his hands up the front of Balgruuf’s brocaded tunic and cupped his face to kiss him gently.

“Umm.” Balgruuf’s breath hitched and put his hands on Dyce’s sides. Dyce twined his fingers in Balgruuf’s long blonde hair and beard, and flicked his tongue between the Jarl’s lips.

“Would you?” Balgruuf began, his breath puffing against Dyce’s chin.

“Mm. Probably. Would I what?”

“I want to suck you,” he muttered.

“Oh, you like that?” Dyce asked. Balgruuf flushed and tried to push him away. “Hey, I like it too. It’s so much fun.” And the idea of the Jarl enjoying it was enough to have him twitching and hardening in his leather trousers.

“Really?” Balgruuf looked at him.

“Really,” Dyce said with confidence. “Have you seen the men in this province? It’s like a feast.”

“Well,” Balgruuf took a deep breath. “In that case. I want you to be on top. Hold me down. I mean you don’t have to-”

As disrespectful as it was to manhandle a Jarl, Dyce grabbed his arm and gave him a gentle shove towards the bed. “Get on and show me what you want,” he said. “And you can have all the cock you can eat.”

Balgruuf didn’t object. Indeed, all he did was whimper and fumble out of his fine clothes. Dyce stripped a little more carefully, watching rather than putting on a show himself. For an overworked father with a few grey hairs, Balgruuf was a fine specimen indeed, pale gold hair dusting his chest and arms, the odd scar a reminder of his time spent at war. He was already desperately hard, and his breathing was shallow when he crawled onto the bed.

Dyce followed him and Balgruuf wrapped his arms around Dyce’s middle, pulling him higher up his body. Dyce was bemused, but didn’t object. When Balgruuf was satisfied, Dyce was sitting astride his shoulders, his cock pressing aggressively against the Jarl’s cheek. Dyce looked over his shoulder; Balgruuf’s cock was out of reach unless he leant back and twisted around.

“Is this what you want?” Dyce asked.

“Oh Divines yes,” Balgruuf breathed, his jaw slightly slack with lust. “I want to look up and see you, and, uh.” He swiped his tongue out towards Dyce’s cock. Dyce could feel Balgruuf move, his hips roll against empty air and his fingers twitch on Dyce’s thighs as Dyce guided his cock towards Balgruuf’s mouth, pressing it against his lips.

Balgruuf opened his mouth and slid his tongue along the underside of Dyce’s cock, which promptly twitched out of his mouth again. Dyce chuckled and they shifted around and arranged pillows until Balgruuf could take Dyce in his mouth without straining his neck, and Dyce could feel himself butting against the roof of Balgruuf’s mouth every time he slid himself forward.

At first Dyce was wondering what he was going to do with his hands, but it became clear soon enough that he needed them to hang onto something. Anything. Eventually He hooked his fingers over the headboard. Balgruuf hadn’t been kidding about being pinned down; he writhed and jolted against the bed, desperately sucking and licking and making needy sounds in the back of his throat.

Dyce kind of liked giving head, but he was beginning to think he’d finally been outmatched. Balgruuf had his arms wrapped up under Dyce’s legs and he used them to urge his hips forward, to fuck his mouth harder. Dyce grunted and obliged, watching himself slide in and out from between the Jarl’s lips. The man’s beard rasped slightly against Dyce’s balls.

“You’re really getting off on this, aren’t you?” Dyce gasped. Balgruuf made incoherent moaning sounds in response. “I think you could, couldn’t you? You could get off just from sucking my cock. Fffuck.” The very idea had his hips surging forward.

Balgruuf writhed, and dug his fingers in, and Dyce squeezed his shoulders between his legs as he came undone, spurting hot and hard in the Jarl’s mouth, Balgruuf sucking him for every drop, until Dyce shuddered and told him to stop.

Balgruuf released him and Dyce crawled off him, not entirely surprised to see the Jarl had managed to come.

“Impressive,” Dyce said, trailing a finger through the mess on his stomach. He lifted the finger to his lips. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a taste.”

Balgruuf was looking at him with a grateful expression, his lips reddened. He licked them.

“There’s tomorrow morning?” he suggested, a bit breathlessly.

~~~

“Ah, there you are.” Dyce knelt between Frothar and Dagny as they sat in the dining hall, having breakfast. “I want to talk to you about Nelkir. I know he’s been a milk-drinker, but he’s going to do better now. And you two are going to be nice to him, understand?”

“Why should we? He’s a baby,” Dagny said.

Dyce grinned, showing a lot of teeth. “Because if you don’t, I’m going to tell every child in Whiterun you got coal for Yuletide.” The expressions on their faces were enough to reassure Dyce that they’d do as he suggested.

Balgruuf stroked his beard, and followed Dyce to the front door. “How did you know about the coal?” he asked.

“Um.” Dyce tried to think of something plausible.

“ _You_ gave my children coal?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you next time I visit.”

“Soon, I hope,” Balgruuf commented. Dyce winked, and hefted the Ebony Blade on his back.


End file.
